


Stupider When Swapped

by I_Shouldnt_Be_Here, katsubi



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Fan Art Included!, Fluff and Humor, Former BAMF!Katsuki Yuuri, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Otabek is WORLD'S OKAYEST to-be-boyfriend, Post-Canon, bodyswap!au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-26
Updated: 2017-05-14
Packaged: 2018-10-24 08:04:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10737567
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/I_Shouldnt_Be_Here/pseuds/I_Shouldnt_Be_Here, https://archiveofourown.org/users/katsubi/pseuds/katsubi
Summary: You see, magic just so happened to exist in the world, not enough for scientists to calibrate and pen down every instance of paranormal activities, research be damned but just enough for some weird shit to happen.Not every miracle was miraculous, this one clearly indicated an asshole behind the scenes.





	1. Chapter 1

**Yurio's (not Yurio, Yuri! shouts one angry teen covered in leopard print) POV**  
  
Have you ever woken up after a supposed night of debauchery resulting in you sleeping on your arm? It feels dissonant, like the cells in your appendage have made themselves scarce whilst reassuring you of their constant presence. Your arm betrays you, thorny displeasure voicing their opinion yet the primitive depths of your brain desire for a little more of that intriguing feeling.

After everything had happened and had been cleared and eventually bid a cheery goodbye to, Yuri could proudly proclaim to anyone who bothered to ask (read: not a soul) that his entire body felt like it had been slept on in such a manner, and possibly trampled by a wobble of ostriches in the process. It felt so inherently wrong, like his appendages had been stretched and his torso had been wrung to resemble a croissant. His head felt like it was stuffed with cotton wool, just on the side that would elicit a pained pinch of the forehead.

Then he bothered to blink, and blink twice, thrice,  _then_  a fourth time. Blearily rubbing his eyes, he blinked again. His vision seemed to have been drastically blurred to the point that he could only make out a hazy outline of everything he viewed. Why he was so calm could be reasoned with the desirable wooziness of deep sleep.

This felt so _surreal_. Yuri could swear that he had slept with his clothes on, surrounded by his messy bed sheets, Potya purring on his stomach and the TV’s faint light illuminating his Limited Edition Posters of Katsudon which  **no one should know.**

(Somewhere in Russia, Nikolai Plisetsky sneezed, not realizing the significance of being referenced by someone and chalking it up to a failing immune system.)

Yet here he was, decidedly  _not_  in his messy room, not like this was spick and span. But this seemed disturbingly familiar…

You see, magic just so happened to exist in this world, not enough for scientists to calibrate and pen down every instance of paranormal activities, research be damned, but just enough for some weird shit to happen. Just last week, a basketball player, some Jason or whoever turned into a cat  _mid game_. The slow motion capture of the spotted brown cat accompanying the ball for a trip through the basket turned into a Tumblr meme and was at that time the fifteenth most popular reaction GIF.  
  
Moving on to more pressing issues, we have a half blind Yurio waking up in a familiar room, the one he distinctly remembers entering ONLY last Sunday when he had to grudgingly borrow a phone charger and walked in on The Bastard fucking The Pig into the mattress. He could _still_  feel their overly enthusiastic noises echoing in his poor brain, and the third thing that registered to him is "Wait, where the fuck is my hair?"  
  
You know, those old wind-up toys where you turn the keys oh-so-carefully, and they come to life as if the key was their life force which you graciously granted to them with your grubby fingers? The slow transition of Yuri's rare serenity into abject horror could be described as such.   
  
His hair!! Where is his hair?! He wasn't  **bald,**  which would've  _killed_  him in a heartbeat, but his hair was irreversibly altered like the rest of him. It was decidedly not as blond as he kept it and unless he had somehow managed to cut off his fringes in the midst of sleep there is no way his hair would be _that_ short.  
  
So something happened to him and he was in a familiar room which shouldn't be registered in his memories as Katsudon's and Old Man's disgusting love shack, he blames this disturbing familiarity on the grogginess from Extra Good Sleep™. His body, appendages and axial body and all, hurt like a bitch though and it didn't register to his consciousness in the past five minutes but he is absolutely sure that whatever phenomena had forced him into an unknown adult's visage; it had evidently taken away all articles of clothing because he was naked as the day he was born.  
  
This shock must've broken Yuri because he got up without protest; proceeding to what he presumed was the bathroom. Well, maybe not  _presumed_  but borderline  _remembered._ He hissed, a muted pain rushing up from his lower back.  _Great, just fucking great.  
_  
So ignoring any background events, let us focus on the not-blond-blond teen when he looked in the Large Mirror which Viktor installed to examine his hairline because he is  _that Extra._ Peering into said mirror, he bore witness to a familiar face, which was not his. It was...  
  
Imagine a peaceful neighbourhood in St. Petersburg. It may not technically be warm as it had just snowed, but the birds were chirping and the sun filtered through the clouds. This brief serenity was shattered by an  **ear-splitting**  scream whose sources, experts point out to be the Russian Legend Victor Nikiforov's apartment. _Hmm_ , is there a murder going on there, the neighbours go, _hmm_. Particularly tasteful Russian expletives follow from the same voice so probably not. This speaks of their having lived with Viktor for a reasonable period of time, such brave people.   
  
Adding to the insanity, a very naked Viktor stumbled in, scratches and hickeys and all. "Yuuri! Are you okay??!" he bellowed, looking at what the outside world, within the believable reaches of reason, assumed was Yuuri Katsuki. He stepped forward and Yuri  _Plisetsky_ stepped behind, not fast enough to prevent The Old Man from gathering him into an impromptu  **naked** hug, or whisper comforting nothings to his ear, which didn't help his panic one bit. But then Viktor proceeds to place a chaste kiss to Yuuri's chapped lips and while Yuri should have expected as much from the engaged couple, he wasn't ready.  
  
**_WHAM_**  
  
It should be noted that Yuuri had taken ballet classes as soon as he could walk. There is also the fact that his legs are very muscular, a direct result of dancing and sliding your fine ass on the stone cold ice.  Therefore, it shouldn't be a surprising revelation that his lower limbs could reach improbable regions with surprising accuracy and ease. In this case, the improbable regions are Viktor's impressive family jewels.  
  
Today is rather loud; one Alyona muses as another glass shattering round of screams resonate from the apartment owned by this one gay couple and their dog. A kink perhaps…?

 

  
  
**Yuuri's POV  
  
**  
He was there, yet he wasn't.  
  
Okay, time to explain, before the poetry aficionados dissect his statement like a frog. Yuuri meant that  _he_  was on the bed, but  **Viktor**  wasn't with him. His fiancé had the annoying tendency of clinging onto everything remotely organic. Typical chimpanzee behaviour. (Yuuri loved getting suffocated in Victor's arms, but his pride was too big for him to admit that he loved cuddling with his coach/lover) Waking up without strong limbs clinging to him to the inch of his life felt…unnatural.  
  
The room had a light blue ceiling. Weird, his room had a simple white one. His vision was so clear that he could see the tiny crack running down the edge of where it met the wall. Now the uncanny thing was that he suddenly had perfect vision. This detail, Yuuri would have latched onto and worried on had he been in a better (or worse) set of circumstances, but he chose to ignore it.  
  
Yuuri remembers that he slept without his clothes, definitely remembers that he had had some amazing sex with Victor. Unless some naughty nun who invented the method of fucking with clothes on temporarily took control of his mind. But he digressed, seeing that he didn't own leopard print clothing…? Or a cat. Which took a sniff at him and padded off to wherever it went…?  
  
Not every miracle was miraculous. This one clearly indicated a total asshole behind the scenes. Deciding to ignore this marvel, he focused on the various secondary mysteries strewn around. For example, he was 99.99% sure that his back should be hurting like an amputated leg. Was he capable of self-vitakinesis now? And another miracle was the completely messy room, in which he spied a pair of leopard printed sneakers with sparkly rainbow laces which were suitable to be worn only at a Pride Parade.  
  
He was lying on the bed when an irritating strand of hair destroyed his non-existent afterglow.  
  
Wait...  
  
_WHEN THE FUCK DID HE BECOME A BLONDE_?  
  
Cue that annoying blonde (Ha, irony) girl scream, soprano-style with all the CGI and VFX added. Quivering thighs, trembling shoulders, it just about included the whole package. The mirror mocked him, for it displayed him with messy, chin length blonde hair. But, he overlooked one minor detail...  
  
_Which wasn't so minor when he paid attention_  
  
The mirror was an enormous extra-large size, possibly broader than Viktor's ill-concealed forehead. (Proportionally, of course) And speaking of him, where was he? Volunteering for the testing of some new cruelty-free product to save his receding hairline?  
  
In comparison, Yuuri was ridiculously short, in a way-too-scrawny body for his age. If there was one thing he was sensitive about, it was his height. In Hasetsu, every vertical inch was precious.   
  
The  **horror**  was the face. That Russian punk face, which featured on every skating obsessed bounty hunter’s shortlist. Unless he had an unplanned plastic surgery, the laws of Reason and everything else had no reason to bestow on him, the face of  **Yuri Plisetsky**  
  
Time to be a rational person. He always gave himself a mental freak-out time out in every situation in which he would probably find himself,  
a) hyperventilating   
b) dead under a heavy automobile or   
c) about to use 'temporary insanity' as a legal defence against an attempt of mass homicide.  
   
If he wasn't Yuri Plisetsky (Hopefully not permanently), he would have classified himself as an apparent sufferer of rabid egomania.  _Here's looking at you, Kardashians_. Because there were at least five floor length posters of  **him**  (Katsuki Yuuri, dime of a dozen figure skater certified by the JSF) plastered on the walls of this positively god-awful room.   
  
Could this boy get any more irritating? There he was, in his fifteen year old, first placed gold medal glory, and he had a miserable, anxiety-ridden, second placed, silver medallist as his poster hero. While he  _should_  feel honoured, he wasn't exactly the most impressive person in the whole almanac of world famous ice skaters.  **On the other hand though** , Yuuri was Yurio right now, he could bask in the glory of being a gold medallist for however long this horrendous ‘miracle’ lasted.   
  
The laptop announced its terrifying resuscitation with a lit screen.  _Incoming Skype call._  
  
Otabek Altin's face, accompanied by a cheesy picture of him a-falling on his butt at a carnival in Barcelona and Yurio's arms positioned in such a way that  _clearly_ indicated him to be the culprit flashed on the screen. _That_ in its entirety was his profile picture.   
Yuuri thought about who would have bothered to take their picture, since it clearly wasn't either of them. The only shutterbug in their clique was Phichit.  
  
Yuuri is about 96.77%sure that his best friend took this picture. This accusation could safely be justified because he specialised in collecting every 'Top Five Most Embarrassing Moments Of Your Life' picture. That guy's camera senses had undoubtedly mutated to superhuman levels at this point in time. However, it tended to propel itself into perverted tangents, given that he had once caught Chris pole dancing in the (near) nude.  
  
Another assumption, were they both  _up to something_? The photo was the perfect picture of ambiguity, with a balance of feels ranging from just-another-stupid-fail to don't-show-this-to-your-child-ifyou-want-their-innocence-spared.   
  
Hmph, Yuuri was just going to make an ass out of himself if he went ahead with this hypothesis. Public humiliation aside, castration by Yuri Plisetsky would sky rocket to above tenth place on his 'things to worry about list' (he has a lot of things to worry about). Yuuri would love to say that he could hold his ground in a fight, but ballet was not the kind of skill you could use to administer a good punch in the face.

Back to the horrifically surreal present…

“здравствуйте” That immature idiot spoke stuttering Russian to  _impress_  Yurio, not that Yuuri felt that Otabek was not good enough for Yurio. No, he certainly  _wasn't_ feeling fatherly towards him. Let that kid do whatever the hell he likes. He could run around with 4000 sticks of dynamite for all Yuuri cared.   
  
"Shut your trap, annoying faker." Yuuri thought that since he was Yurio now, he should mould himself in character. The first thing to do was to let his mouth run free like a wild ass. Oh, the freedom of stating exactly what your inner monologue spoke.  
  
"Just what I expected." Otabek was unfazed.  _That's why opposites attract; you need a teaspoon of stoic niceness to balance the impossibly heavy kilogram of teenage dickheadedness.  
  
"_ I do not have any plans on this Sunday." Otabek said.  
  
"Sorry dear, but could you hang up for now? I'm sure that I have some pretty serious plans for my Sunday." Yuuri didn't want to give Yurio a heart attack by making Otabek show up at his door with a huge bouquet of roses or something. And he was pretty sure that the kid had an allergy.  
  
(And somewhere in this twisted universe, Otabek Altin wondered why the hell Yuri referred to him as 'dear'. Usually his words of choice were 'bastard', 'stupid DJ' or something of that word family after he had gotten comfortable enough with him, but that is a whole other story.)  
  
"Goodbye" The laptop went back to its dead state. Yuuri was glad that he ended the conversation quickly enough. Talking to someone on Skype wasn't Yuuri's thing. Unnecessary talking of any kind wasn't his thing as well.  
  
You might think of Katsuki Yuuri to be a  _shy wallflower,_  but that was absolutely not the case. He considered himself to be a former total badass in his mind, ever since he had knocked on the door of that scary lady long ago when he had accidentally ruined her bonsai, case in point being that  _it was a complete accident_.  
  
And somewhere else, in this fucking big universe, two coaches, namely Yakov Feltsman and Lilia Baranovskaya were hatching a conspiracy to finally awaken Yuri Plisetsky from his supposed deep sleep. They walked up to Yuri's door with their weapons, namely their awe-inspiring voice boxes. Yakov and Lilia placed their respective heavy bass and mezzo-soprano on the start line.  
  
"YURI PLISETSKY! GET YOUR ASS OUT OF BED RIGHT NOW!" Both of them shouted in Russian. Although Yuuri did not know what they exactly said, the tone was rather self-explanatory.  
  
Keeping in mind the new-but-not-really badass persona of his, the Russian Punk (or Japanese, given the circumstance) proceeded to kick both of them in the face. Mentally.

 

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Yurio's POV**   
  
It took time to get adjusted to ridiculously long limbs.   
  
He has lost count of how many trays, skates, skaters and oddly,  _ candelabra _  he has knocked over. This hotel took the 'medieval castle' vibe a bit too seriously. He was lucky enough not to land up with a massive bump on his head. But it was Yuuri's head and that guy deserved a huge bump and a massive bald spot to boot.   
  
Speaking of totally unnecessary but totally necessary rods of dead cells on his cranium, how was Katsudon treating his body? He hoped that he wouldn't end up with a missing toe or something.   
  
Knocking himself off this gruesome train of thought, Yuri headed off to practice, where Viktor was probably waiting for him. It was horrifying when that old man tried to kiss him naked that night. These were the occupational hazards of transforming into someone who you had a minor crush on who had a fiance who didn't even feature in your age-gap wet dreams. Such a humongous gap which was really hard to ignore. (Exactly 0.8 times his own age) And to imagine that the person whose body he was in had sex with Viktor...   
  
These thoughts made vomit rise in the back of his throat. He was too young to be thinking about sex! According to his mom at least, who thought he still was an innocent little child, unaware of the workings of the world. That fucking lower-back ache was rearing its ugly head once again.    
  
Procrastination is a lazy ass. He should really be heading to practice. His angels wouldn't want him to fall after winning the Grand Prix. He took his tiny earphones and plugged them in. It was easy to block out Yakov's unnecessary shouting this way. He always pretended to listen and nod his head.    
  
But this also came with its own set of cons, for Yuri Plisetsky was a die hard fan of rock music, Russian and otherwise. It was hard not to break out in a violent head-bang. Yakov would catch him and his secret would be out, because you know, Katsudon doesn't head-bang. Besides, he  _ hated _  classical music. God knows how he maintained his rhythm without even listening to the music.   
  
"Hello, my dear Yuuuuri!!" Viktor screams out like a kid and Yuri raises an eyebrow in greeting. He doesn't look pissed off at all by looking at Yuuri, even after he kicked Viktor's balls. It has been scientifically proved that people do lose their brains while drowning in the love mush.    
  
"Let's work on your footwork!" Viktor sure does loves the sound of his own voice echoing, egotistical bastard. He grabs Yuuri's arm and leads him to the rink.    
  
Again, it was a BAD_CONFIG error, so Yuri ended up falling on the ice, the cold slashing all the way into his soft skin that he was rather proud of. But he remembered, it was Yuuri's skin. Still, he had some responsibility.   
  
Getting up after a few failed attempts, he tried to do a few basic moves. It ended in a few minor fails and a few epic fails. Viktor was about to blow his top, fake smile chipping at the edges with worry and irritation. Yuri knew that the problem was the long limbs. Where he would manage the footwork easily, he found himself falling short.    
  
"I think you should rest today." Viktor said in a totally despondent voice. The immune-to-emotions Yuri Plisetsky found his heart breaking when he saw his face.    
  
"I can manage. I'm just having a bad day today." He guessed it was better not to freak Viktor out by telling him right now. He didn't want to be responsible for a mental shutdown or two.    
  
"You should stay away from the rink today." Victor sounded authoritative. If he really was Katsuki Yuuri now, he might have found himself hardening. But that voice came with a lot of other things, one of which may have included a serious argument.   
  
So he ran away from that voice, into Viktor's apartment, into the living quarters of The Pig. He missed so many things, his animal print outfits, his laptop (Which may or may not have anything to do with Otabek) and his posters of Katsudon.   
  
OH  _ FUCK _ .   
  
The. Fucking. Posters. Of. Yuuri.   
  
No, this can't be happening. But he knew with certainty that it had. Yuuri must have found his posters in his room. And he would rather kill his friends than let Yuuri know that he harbored a crush on him. And the murdering job was easy, since he had precisely  _ zero _  friends.   
  
Although that crush was shifting somewhere else, it still held a lot of emotional potential. Damn him and his fifteen year old mind. The thought brought some more associated thoughts of black hair, slicked and buzzed, an enormous pair of neon green headphones, a turntable, music CD's and his treasured seven inches _. _   
  
_ The vinyl disks _ ,  _ seven inches in diameter _  were  _ one thing  _ he wasn't allowed to get his grubby hands on.    
(You thought he was talking about Otabek's dick, didn't you?  _ Get your minds out of the gutter. _ )   
  
Equally treasured were the fucking vinyl covers. His reluctant ass had been thoroughly educated in music and he even knew that the ten inch and twelve inch ones were better and more popular among audiophiles than the seven inch disks, which often had crappy sound quality.   
  
He could rave about music for the whole day, but the show must go on.   
  
Okay, time to find some blackmail material. Yuri may not have had any malicious intent, but this was the only way that both of them could have an end-user agreement, safely taking each other's embarrassing secrets to the grave.    
  
He tried very hard not to snoop around in Yuuri's stuff, but that was very hard after a day like today. Imagine a period of blankly staring at walls. At least he respected Yuuri for that smatter of a moment. Now, to hell with that 'respect' shit.   
  
The first place would be his wardrobe. This was the place where Yuri supposed he would discover Katsudon's kinks, if present. Handcuffs and silken collars could be easily found here. He bet that Viktor loved to tug Yuuri's hair while doing the dirty.   
  
Well, extrapolations and plain assumptions couldn't be accepted as circumstantial evidence.   
  
The mission begins. The wardrobe concealed everything inside with its wooden blanket. He opened it easily, the non-requirement of a key told him that he wouldn't even find condoms or lube in here. Or maybe that man had an exhibition kink...?   
  
He was getting bored of looking through loads of boring blue and black clothing. Yuri would love to give him a tip or two if only he wasn't so emotionally awkward.  _ Nope, that isn't shyness, It's my completely badass technique of not giving a shit.  _ He thought.   
His costumes weren't there, probably stowed in some secret place in the fourth dimension.   
  
Inferences by far-   
a) This mission wasn't showing any signs of success.    
b) His arms hurt, his head hurt, and did he mention his backache?   
c) Yuuri probably loved it the vanilla way. (And, Yuri's age be damned, who even likes the vanilla route?)   
  
Time to look somewhere else. The bathroom was another place he could snoop in. By far, he hadn't even found the condoms, aka the first indicator of a sexually active person. But the thoughts of Yuuri barebacking almost had him gagging once more.   
  
The bathroom was tiny, too tiny to even consider  _ standing-up _  shower sex. This place was eliminated immediately from his list.   
  
What was he to do now? No guy could certainly be like Katsuki Yuuri, who seemed to maintain his good boy image even in his private sphere. Did this guy ever not want to take some frustration out by erm... _ physical _  methods? He was thinking that the night, which was supposed to give Yuuri a backache (but gave that curse to Yuri instead) was forced by Viktor.    
  
Yuri was ready to bet that the Japanese skater didn't even jerk off in the shower. He concentrated hard to find another hiding place, but there weren't many.   
  
One extremely cliche hiding place came to his mind. He remembered that his Grandpa always used to hide his money under the mattress.   
  
The search under the mattress yielded similar results. During this process, he noticed that the bed was stuck to the far wall, but there was a narrow space between the headboard and the adjoining wall. So he decided to try his luck there.   
  
_ I've struck gold _ . Was his first thought when he pulled out a silicon case from the space. This must hold all the classified information about Katsuki Yuuri.    
  
Yuri wasn't naive enough to expect a diary, decorated with fluffy pink unicorns inside, but the things he found shocked him completely. Now he was thinking that Viktor mightn't have had to persuade Katsudon at all.   
  
There were the essential condoms and lube all right but...   
  
Inside there were all manner of toys. They came in shapes of all kinds, long, thick, bumpy, ridged and  _ whatnot _ . He could count at least ten of them inside.    
  
And to think that they must have gone up Yuuri's ass at least once, possibly two at the same time.   
  
He didn't dare to touch them after. But his life be damned if Yuri wasn't curious to feel how it felt like, but then again the same issue of them being used by Yuuri made him wonder if they had been sterilized or not.    
  
He wanted to find blackmail material. This kind of shit could easily make Yuuri die of internal bleeding due to the full body blush that he would sport if Yuri even considered telling him this. And he knew that the Japanese thought too much and cared too much even when it involved stuff that nobody should care about.   
  
Yuri would happily drive a hammer through his own head, which harbored a crush on Yuuri only because of his tendency to care too much. That was the exact reason that he was afraid to talk to Viktor's boyfriend/fiance, fearing that every little thing dropping out of his own mouth would be over-analysed.    
  
Well, everyone is a human at the end of the day. His sadistic mission was successful, but he resolved to himself that he would take Yuuri's secret to the grave if said man never talked about the posters on his room.   
  
This was too much non-skating-related stimuli for his brain for one day. Yuri put the silicone case back and saw that he had already spent half of the day in non-productivity. Emotionally wrecking, but it was still half a day without having any work done.   
  
So he decided to just waste the entire day. He messaged a familiar number on Yuuri's phone. It was someone who Yuri had cared about enough to remember the phone number.   
  
"Hello Grandpa...I'm craving some pirozhki. I wish you were here..."   
  
  
**Yuuri's POV** ****  
****  
****  
Practice was, well, interesting, to say the least.   
  
Yes, this exuberant amount of surprises tend to happen to him all the time,  _ all the damn time _ . Yuuri could definitely claim to the judgmental jury ever-present in his headspace that this was a result of suffering exposure to Viktor, Surprise Personified.   
  
(But Yuuri knows that is a false statement, given his penchant for eliciting the unexpected. Case-in-point, remember the utter  **disaster**  that was the Sochi Grand Prix Final? That was  _ not _  a choreographed move, debunking the rampant theories claiming otherwise.)   
  
To anyone who had been in the know about the mannerisms of the Russian Team, everyone were going about as usual. It was as if the movements had been precoded into their AI, supplemented by a few quirks to accentuate their supposed ' _ normalcy' _ . Some say that they are actually highly advanced androids, monitored and maintained by the Russian Federal Security Services, to, you know, boost the country's chances at winning in more events. Look at Viktor Nikiforov!   
  
Yeah, maybe these so called 'quirks' may not have been beneficial to their chances, otherwise Georgi wouldn't have been so emotionally clingy as to cry during his jumps, Mila wouldn't hoard chocolate in improbable places like a squirrel, sometimes in  _ Men's locker _ s, Viktor wouldn't have skated buck naked once ("it was an isolated incident!" said man cried as Yuuri blankly contemplated upon the workings of  **that instance** ) and Yurio would have no reason to collect posters featuring his dark past.   
  
Yes, Yuuri was not going to let go of that. He was like an elephant in that regard, remarked some William, former rinkmate during his time in Detroit. Predictably, he took that badly and it cost Phichit thirteen cheeseburgers and a drive to the local bar to convince Yuuri that, no, William was not taking a jab at his fluctuating weight.   
  
Coming back to the present, yes, it was a normal day in the eyes of the general public.    
  
Inside, Yuuri was tripping balls at the speed of sound.   
  
He didn't suppose he had any season to. It was very well known that such paranormal incidents were often short lived, spanning over an average of two to five days. In fact, the longest recorded duration was three weeks and two days, involving what seemed to be a dimensional travel, one which the governments of the world agreed not to dwell on.    
  
Yuuri's biggest worry was his condition. Even if the non-existent drinking laws of Russia dictated otherwise, he was a minor, a  _ teen,  _ one who hadn't even had a growth spurt. What if, just what if, Vitya left him...?   
  
That slimy worm of a thought was ridiculous but horrifying enough to make him trip on the entrance, eliciting questioning stares, because Yurio tripping was a rarity, that is if it was out of the blue. He flushed, regaining his bearings, then proceeded to the rink.   
  
("Was that  _ Plisetsky _ ?" one of the witness queried. "He didn't swear, not even a damn peep.")   
  
Such an idea is fucking ridiculous, unthinkable, incomprehensible. But anxiety never takes a rational, straight road. Noooo, it jumps straight to hellish, outlandish conclusions as easily as scientifically enhanced pogo sticks. Because, they seem to have been invented somewhere.   
  
He can visualize Viktor's disappointed face, head shaking sadly before he walks away because.....because....why would he-   
  
Yuuri registered a tough hand on his shoulder shaking him into the present and he looked up, locking eyes with Coach Feltsman.    
  
'When did he appear in front of me...? Where the hell was I?'    
  
"Yura? Are you well enough to get on the ice today?" Coach Feltsman asks gruffly, but his eyes glint with suspicion and mild concern for the blond in front of him. Yuuri could hug the man if he were in his own framework because damn it all, he was  _ not alright _  and could really go for skin contact.But he was not Yuuri Katsuki at the moment, he was Yuri Plisetsky and he is Highly Doubtful that Yurio has ever spontaneously hugged  _ anyone _  without 2000+ hours of repeated contact, free food, WiFi, and the promise of buying him a tiger.    
  
So he made do with scowling and averting his eyes to the rink. Because you know, practice.   
  
"I'm  _ fine,  _ stop getting on my case!" __   
  
"Then get on the rink and practice your step sequences! God knows how you managed to win the Grand Prix with such  **abysmal** footwork!"   
  
"Ugh, whatever."   
  
To be fair, it kind of stung to be called out on his prized footwork, even if Yakov wasn't addressing  _ him _  as Yuuri Katsuki, queen of step sequences. _  S _ o some of his genuine irritation seeped through. Not that it mattered in the grand scheme of things. Besides it felt good to snap at people from time to time.   
  
If he were honest, it felt liberating to shed the polite and demure robe befitting a Japanese and his reputation, donning the wild and slightly angsty (who was he kidding) personality of Yurio.   
  
Now if only he could reverse this disaster and return to Viktor's side, that would be very much appreciated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates are going to be a bit slow.  
> (Because both of us are struggling in the pit of eternal hell known as high school)  
> Please leave a comment or a kudos, it really makes our day  
> Until next time,  
> Silent_Rainb0ws and TheVibrantNight

**Author's Note:**

> This idea had jumped out mostly from Rainbow's mind. This was the result of 10 days of work (or specifically, four days of work and six days of laziness, mostly on TheVibrantNight's part), ice-cream, a big pack of oreos, Rainbow's magical editing skills and combined shit loads of crazy.   
> And, the fan art is the courtesy of Rainbow!  
> You can see it right < a href="http://rainbonime.deviantart.com/art/Apparently-stupidity-increases-substantially-677214482" > here < /a >,
> 
> (Please leave a comment or kudos, if you want to or if you feel that this fic made you laugh!)


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